Swing violin, rhythm guitar, and a rock steady two-in-a-bar on the bass outside a café in Bruges. The customers give polite applause and fork over the small change, which in turn elicits a Hungarian dance. The whole town is somewhat English-speaking, although all the signs are in Flemish. There is to be a carillion concert. The contraption looks like an organ made of duplo, and drives bells instead of pipes. It must be tremendously hard to play, with no damping and all those stray harmonics.
And there my notes end.
It was a subtly English speaking version of a French café town, a quiet battle between buskers and the overhead carillion, people playing pétanque on the gravel, and a tremendously determined gay man who caused my precipitous departure from the town.